


Rewriting Us

by guardiandevil



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Implied Relationships, Just Peggy though, M/M, Minor Mentions of Death, aka: Steve Rogers is not an asshole for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardiandevil/pseuds/guardiandevil
Summary: When Steve finds James in Bucharest, they decide it's time to relearn their past relationship.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Rewriting Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is just light fluff and absolutely is not proofread, so I apologise for any mistakes! I'll probably go back and edit it later.  
> Dedicated to @PA4RKER on twitter for helping me with decision making earlier and for being a general sweetheart.

Every Wednesday morning, James would visit the market. It was like clockwork; he would leave his makeshift apartment at 7:45am on the dot, when he’d already been awake for hours and the sun had just risen, and walk into town with nothing but an empty bag thrown over his shoulder and loose coins in his pockets. He blended in well, a cap pulled down and hair falling into his eyes concealing his identity from the locals.

After a few months of settling in, James found himself hesitant to leave. He’d become accustomed to fleeing from one place to another every other week or so, ensuring he left no trail for Hydra to follow, but there was something about Bucharest that made James want to stay. Had he been in any other part of the world, he was certain he wouldn’t feel so comfortable, but, to him, it was home – not Brooklyn or Siberia or anywhere else he might have been kept once, but a home he had made for himself when he didn’t think finding peace was possible.

The locals had become used to him, too. There was Maria who owned the fruit stall and snuck James plums and peaches when he ran out of money and beamed twice as wide at him when he _could_ afford to pay her, though she always tried to deny the money. “Save it for something else. You could always do with a new jumper, eh? It’ll start to get cold soon, James, I couldn’t see you freeze just because you want to pay me,” she would tell him each time, only for James to shake his head and press the coins into her palm. He’d be fine, but he appreciated her kindness and he told her as much. Cristina was just as fond of him. She manned a stall at the market too, selling breads and sweet treats on behalf of her husband who owned the bakery a few streets north. Each week when James visited the market, she would pass him a box of whatever hadn’t sold the day before, refusing to let him pay on the grounds that he was supposedly doing her a favour and that she would have had to throw the leftover baked goods had it not been for him. It didn’t feel much like he was doing her a favour, so he would spare a few coins when she turned back, placing them on her table and making a quick escape before she could notice. Sometimes, he would find the same coins he’d left a week prior buried beneath a loaf of bread. He assured both Maria and Cristina that he didn’t deserve their kindness, but they always told him otherwise.

If they had known what he had done, James thought, they wouldn’t believe as such.

Some days were better than others, as was to be expected. When he was at his best, James had no issue with wandering the streets at sunset or visiting the market, but there were times when he couldn’t force himself to leave his apartment. He would hide away for days at a time, staying beneath his woven blanket (a gift from Ana, the woman two floors beneath him) and praying it would protect him from the ghosts of his past. It never did, his past still finding a way to haunt him even when his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his hands pressed over his ears, but he still found comfort in the slightly tatty blanket and the soup Mihai, Ana’s grandson, would leave outside his apartment when they hadn’t seen him in a short while. James wondered if they would still treat him with such kindness if they knew that he reached for a knife every time they knocked on his door. He doubted it.

However, his anxious habits would prove useful when Ana knocked on his door one morning with Steve Rogers stood at her side.

* * *

“James, are you awake?” she called through the door, knocking twice on the sturdy wood. It was early, James thought, and surely couldn’t be any later than 9, but he shook the thought away and stalked over, aware of the knife tucked into his sock, and another taped behind the door, and the gun just below it. He liked both Ana and Mihai and they’d helped him more times than he could count, but trust had proven to be something James was incapable of after Hydra. It wasn’t to be unexpected.

“Da, Maria!” he replied as he opened the door with a wide smile that quickly faltered.

Steve was stood beside Maria with a nervous smile, dressed in civilian clothing and lacking his shield, yet somehow still managing to look out of place in the rundown apartment building, though James wasn’t entirely sure why. They’d grown up in worse conditions, but hell, Steve was over twice the size he was back then, and James found it near impossible to recognise his Stevie in the man who stood in front of him. He was sure that Steve had the same problem with him, though; he hardly looked anything like Steve’s Bucky. The difference, he thought, was that Steve was still Steve, and well, he _wasn’t_ still Bucky. Not anymore, not after everything.

“Your friend came here asking for you, said he was looking for a ‘Bucky’, described you pretty well, so I assumed you knew him,” she explained with a sideways glance at Steve before returning her gaze to James. She hesitated. “Esti in siguranta?”

It was James’ turn to hesitate – _was_ he safe? He eyed Steve carefully, taking the man in with a heightened degree of caution. He was unarmed, that much James could tell, but he could hear the crackle of an earpiece behind Steve’s ear, so he knew they weren’t completely alone, either. Steve had backup somewhere, but James was certain he could outrun them if need be, though he hoped – silently prayed – that he _wouldn’t_ need to. As pitifully sentimental as it was, he wasn’t ready to leave Bucharest just yet.

After some thought, James nodded. “Da, Maria, mulțumesc.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. James, Steve,” she nodded her goodbyes.

For a few moments, the two men were silent. Steve watched him as though he’d seen a ghost (he _had_ ) and James stared back with an unreadable expression, eyes dark and notably blank, void of any emotion at all. When Steve stayed silent, James took it upon himself to clear his throat and speak up.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” James’ words came out a lot colder than he had intended for them to, blunt and monotonous. Had they been in any other situation, he might have felt guilty for the way Steve grimaced in response.

“I needed to see you,” the soldier replied, schooling his demeanour and standing slightly taller. James almost smiled at the mannerism. He could vaguely remember Steve doing the same thing back in the day, though he supposed it was much more intimidating when he wasn’t scrawny and ninety-something pounds. James wasn’t bothered by him though; he’d dealt with worse and it was hard to be afraid of Steve when he had fragments of those memories.

“You remember me,” Steve continued, and James could tell that he wasn’t asking. There was the start of a smile on the soldier’s lips.

“Parts of you.” The smile disappeared when James corrected him, but it returned mere seconds later, sadder and softer than it had been.

“More than you did, though,” he pointed out, to which James could only nod. He wouldn’t lie and, as much as he didn’t want to see Steve, he couldn’t bear to see that smile drop a second time. There was still pieces of his Stevie behind all the muscle and height, he just wasn’t _his_ Stevie anymore, just as he wasn’t _Steve’s_ Bucky.

“Can I come in?”

“Why are you here?” James ignored him in favour of repeating his earlier question, blocking the doorway with a heavy boot angled against the wall.

“Peggy’s dead.”

It was Steve’s turn to talk bluntly, crossing his arms defensively over his chest and watching as James’ eyebrows knitted together in a deep furrow. Metal fingers pushed at James’ temple, rubbing as he would if he had a headache, though there was more frustration behind the action than there would be otherwise.

“Buck-“ Steve started, not wanting to upset him, but James cut him off quickly.

“She’s your- Peggy, that’s your dame,” he mumbled, his frown deepening. Blue eyes stared at Steve, though Steve knew that whatever James was seeing, it wasn’t him. A distant expression danced across his features, lips pursing tightly and jaw setting as if it took physical effort for James to remember. Steve thought it likely did.

“She was, once,” he confirmed, his own voice laced with sadness, though it was resigned, a pain accepted a long time ago.

“I remember her, she- she… I tried to ask her to dance, but she only had eyes for you. First time I ever got ignored by a dame.” There was a small smile on James’ lips, though Steve thought he was imagining it at first. He could remember James’ beaming smiles and cocky grins as though he’d only seen it just the day before, but this… This was different. It was small, a ghost of a smile but a smile nonetheless – better than nothing and Steve smiled wide enough for the both of them.

“I don’t think they call ‘em dames anymore, pal,” Steve teased half-heartedly, grin merely growing when James replied with a simple quirk of his eyebrow. “Can I come in now?”

To his surprise, James nodded and stepped aside. When the door closed behind him, Steve didn’t miss the way that James lingered by the gun that was leant against the wall. He didn’t blame him, though.

“Bucky, I know it’s been a while, but I thought that-“

“Don’t call me Bucky.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest but promptly closed it again.

“That’s not me, not anymore… Just _James,_ ” he corrected quietly, turning his gaze away from Steve in an attempt to shake his anxiety. He couldn’t stop the relief from showing on his face when Steve nodded, albeit hesitantly.

“You always hated being called James,” Steve recalled, voice soft, scared to say the wrong thing, “What changed?”

James shrugged, chancing a glance up at Steve. “I changed. There’s no going back, Steve. I can’t undo what I’ve done, so I’m just… I’m trying to start again. I’m not the soldier and I’m not your best friend.”

The hurt that flashed across Steve’s face was unmissable, but James tried not to let it affect him. It only worked a little, because he found himself wishing he’d never said anything at all. Before he could apologise, Steve spoke again.

“You could be. Again, I mean. If you’d let me, I want to get to know you again, James… No expectations, no holding onto the past. You are – _were_ – everything to me. We can relearn it, relearn each other.”

There was something akin to pleading in Steve’s voice and it made James’ heart ache. It felt as though he had his heart in hand, each new word tightening the grip. In part, James hated it, despised the feeling of being vulnerable again, and yet, another part of him, long buried behind cold exterior, reminded him that this was everything he had fought for. He fought to be a person again rather than a mindless soldier and James knew, as much as it terrified him, vulnerability _was_ human. It was emotion and real and it was _freeing_ even if it felt like a cage.

This was fear, and risk, and that was freedom.

_I’m free, I’m free, I’m free._

“If you don’t want to or you’re not ready, then-“

“Okay.”

“-I understand and- what?”

James withheld a smile. “I said okay.”

And there it was again, that damn smile widening and spreading proudly across Steve’s lips; too bright and too genuine and more familiar than James thought it had any right to be. He didn’t get to think about it too much, because Steve surprised them both when he wound his arms around James and pulled him into a hug.

James first thought was that it was _too tight, too suffocating, too much_ , but then he let himself breathe. He breathed slowly and calmly and then he thought _hugs never used to be like this_ and suddenly it wasn’t too tight, nor too suffocating, nor too much, because Steve hadn’t hugged him like that before. He remembered Steve clinging to him once, arms winding around his neck or waist, slotting into James’ grip perfectly. This was far from perfect; they were both too big, unused to each other’s size, and James’ metal arm was clunky and dug into Steve’s ribs when he hugged him back, but it was _new_ and nothing like the past and that was exactly what they both needed then.

When James pulled back from the hug, he cleared his throat. “Where do we start?” he asked, words equally cautious and hopeful.

“Wherever you want.”

_Choice. I have a choice, now._

“I want to say goodbye to Peggy. She’s the last piece, right? Everyone else is gone, I read… I read that somewhere, so I want to say goodbye. I think it’s time for me to let go of the past properly.”

Steve smiled again. James did too, this time.

“I think so too, pal.”


End file.
